


Two Johns, Three Geniuses and One Angry Mother

by Draycevixen



Series: Meet the Holmes family [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crack, Crossover, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an interesting family... A Person of Interest/Sherlock crossover.</p><p> </p><p>NOTE: This story was written and posted prior to the start of season two of Person of Interest. I have no doubt that the new season will reveal me to be totally wrong about Root and the outcome of the kidnapping, but as I was writing prior to season two I felt free to speculate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Johns, Three Geniuses and One Angry Mother

.

Unless recovering from gunshot wounds, stabbings, torture and/or severe beatings, all of which occurred often enough to be practically business as usual, he never stayed in bed past 5:00am. He preferred to use the early morning hours to exercise, read the newspaper and drink some coffee before getting on with whatever manifestation of saving the world he was currently engaged in. The only other exception to his routine was if he had company, something he sadly hadn’t had cause to think about in a few years.

But now… He moved as stealthily as possible, raising his arm to look again at his wristwatch: 6:54am. He couldn’t get back to sleep yet couldn’t get up without risking waking Finch. Given that they hadn’t even gone to bed until after 2:00am he was stuck where he was, staring up at the ceiling. 

Perhaps he should paint the place. He hadn’t changed anything much since moving in. There was now a treadmill, a set of free weights and some basic exercise equipment up against one wall and a brightly colored rug in front of the couch that had been part of a sale in aid of a homeless shelter but it still felt pretty much like a box he just happened to exist in between numbers. 

He wondered how late Finch would sleep. The major drawback of a loft was having nowhere else to go unless he wanted to lurk in the bathroom or hide in the closet and he hadn’t done that in a long time. He smirked at his own lame joke, rolling slowly on to his side. His efforts at stealth failed miserably as his phone fell out from under his pillow and crashed to the floor. He reached for it, cursing under his breath. 

“Please don’t worry, Mr. Reese, I was already awake.”

“Good morning, Finch.” He still couldn’t quite believe Finch was there with him. He’d almost given up on that ever being true. “I thought you’d be asleep for a while yet.”

“Too much on my mind, too many implications to think through.”

He shouldn’t have rushed Finch back to his apartment, should have taken the time to talk things through but his need to have him—

“I want to thank you.”

Gratitude? Was that why Finch had agreed to spend the night at his apartment? “…My pleasure.”

“Most men wouldn’t have persisted.”

“Then most men are fools.”

“I’m not worth—” whatever Finch was about to say was interrupted by someone hammering on the front door.

Reese rolled off the couch, reaching for his gun, signaling Finch who had begun to sit up to stay put in the bed as he headed past him towards the door.

“Would you please tell your hired help to put his gun away?” 

The man on the other side of the door was either psychic or had eyes on them. Reese started to raise his gun, wishing he’d thought to grab the shotgun from his closet. 

“Harold? This is making John nervous in a way that cannot end well for anyone.” The voice was cultured, English and decidedly bored. 

Reese glanced back towards Finch who was now sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Let him in, Mr. Reese, and please let me take this opportunity to apologize in advance.”

Reese reached to unlock the door without standing directly behind it, threw it open and came face to face to with a short man with sandy brown hair standing in a perfect reflection of his own gun ready stance. 

“Perhaps we might dispense with the theatrics.” This came from a man closer to Reese’s own height standing behind the sandy haired man. 

One quick glance at the taller man’s face had Reese lowering his gun. “Sherlock Holmes?”

The sandy haired man in turn lowered his gun. “How did you know that?” 

“Family resemblance. I’ve already met his mother.” 

“And you've lived to tell the tale?” Sherlock snorted and the sandy haired man holstered his gun before stretching out his hand. “Dr. John Watson, Captain, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

Having no holster in his sleep pants Reese transferred his gun to his left hand and shook Watson’s hand. “John Reese.” 

“Let’s not get started on _his_ military record else he might have to kill us all.” Sherlock swept in through the door past Reese making a beeline for Finch. 

“I really can’t say sorry enough. Both for Sherlock and for what I think is about to happen.” Watson stepped in to the apartment turning to wait while Reese locked the door. “Please try to resist the urge to punch Sherlock in the face.”

“Is that a common problem?”

“I’m thinking of getting my request printed on business cards.” 

Together they moved to join Sherlock and Finch. Sherlock was removing a laptop from the large messenger bag slung across his shoulder. 

“What are you doing here, Sherlock?” Finch did not look happy. 

“Delivering pizza? You used to be a lot sharper, Harold.” Sherlock glanced back over his shoulder at Reese before facing Finch again. “Must be the company you keep.”

“Of course I know, I just meant… The first thing I did after Mr. Reese retrieved me from Root was to let Mycroft know I was all right specifically to circumvent any such visit.”

“Yes, yes, but your man had already let Mycroft know what was happening.” Sherlock’s fingers flew over the laptop’s keyboard as he rested it on the edge of the bed. 

“What?” Finch stared up at Reese aghast. 

“You’d been taken. I tried any and all resources at my disposal to find you and would do so again.” Reese tried not to let any of the feelings behind his actions show on his face. 

“Oh...” Finch picked at the bandage wrapped around his right hand. 

Sherlock finished typing and lifted the laptop up off the bed, holding it at waist level and turning it to face Finch.

“Ah, Harold, at last, we have been worried about you.” 

Reese stepped around to the other side of the bed so he could see the video call image of Mycroft sat in what appeared to be a dining room full of antiques. 

“As you can see for yourself I’m alright, Mycroft.” Finch removed his glasses briefly to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for your concern.”

“I had already asked Sherlock to go to New York to aid Mr. Reese—”

“For once, Mycroft did not have to ask me twice.” Sherlock was actually smiling down at Harold. 

“—when Mr. Reese reported that he had located you in Delaware and was on his way to retrieve you.” 

“Then what’s Sherlock doing here?” Reese couldn’t hold it in. 

Sherlock angled the laptop up so Mycroft could see Reese standing behind the bed. “I must apologize, Mr. Reese—”

“Why don’t you all stop apologizing and say what’s on your damn minds.” Obviously Finch’s family thought him incapable of protecting Finch.

“Exactly my intention.”

Reese would recognize that voice anywhere. Harold’s Aunt Violet stepped in to the image frame as she shooed Mycroft out of his chair.

“Now, mummy, we had agreed that I would handle this.” Even as Mycroft spoke he was yielding his chair to his mother. 

“No, you said you would handle it and did not wait for my response.” Sherlock angled the laptop down to face Harold again. “Harold, I have been so worried. Sherlock, get closer.” Sherlock took a step forward, adjusting the angle of the laptop again. “You look pale, Harold, even for you. Is that a bandage on your hand? What did that bitch do to you?”

“Mummy!” Mycroft actually sounded shocked.

She turned momentarily to glare at Mycroft before snapping out “Oh grow up, Mycroft” and turning again to look at Harold.

“I’m fine, Aunt Violet, really I am, thanks to Mr. Reese.” 

From where Reese was standing he could see Finch straighten up as much as he could, obviously hoping to convey that he was all right. 

“I want a word with your Mr. Reese.” 

Reese had seen less scary looks on the faces of paid assassins. 

The raised voices as Sherlock, Watson, Mycroft and Finch all tried to speak at once in his defense were deafening. 

“Quiet!” Aunt Violet was instantly obeyed. “You may have been able to stop me going to New York, yes Mycroft I have my suspicions about my ‘missing’ passport, but you cannot stop me from having words with that man. Sherlock, turn around slowly.” Reese’s assumption that Aunt Violet was inspecting his apartment was soon proved right. “A loft? Hand the laptop over to Mr. Reese, Sherlock. I suggest we try the bathroom for a little privacy.”

“Aunt Violet, I really cannot allow you to browbeat my associate.” Finch started to stand up. 

“Sit down, Harold.” Finch sat. “Mr. Reese?”

She couldn’t possibly have anything to say that was worse than what he’d already said to himself. “Yes, ma’am.” Sherlock handed him the laptop. “Dr. Watson? Would you keep an eye on Finch for me?”

Watson actually snapped to attention. “I’d be happy to. I’d like to check on his injuries myself if he’s agreeable.” Finch nodded as far as he was able. “It might help put Mrs. Holmes’ worries to rest.” 

 

In the bathroom, he set his gun down on the counter and then placed the laptop next to it only just avoiding snapping to attention himself. He could see Mrs. Holmes looking out of the frame.

“Mycroft, leave the room. Yes, all the way out if you please and close the door behind you, there’s a good boy…” She turned again to face forward. “Please sit down, Mr. Reese. While the view is rather spectacular I would prefer not to converse with your abdominal muscles.”

He glanced down remembering that he was only wearing sleep pants and that the view from the laptop at counter height was basically centered on his crotch. He closed the lid on the toilet seat and sat down, adjusting the laptop screen so they were facing each other. 

“What happened, Mr. Reese? I thought we had an understanding, that I was leaving Harold’s welfare in good hands. We are of course in your debt for Harold’s safe return but—”

“I failed you. Worse still, I failed Finch. Root was good, really good and she took him right out from under my nose. I did everything except tie him up and hand him over to her on a plate.”

“…I am surprised. I expected some attempt at excuses on your part.” She eased back in the chair. “You have rather taken the wind out of my sails.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“So where is Root now?”

Reese looked straight at her. “She’s in a prison in Mexico.”

“Very convincing.” A slow predatory smile spread across her face. “Thank you, Mr. Reese. I’m sure Harold will be satisfied with that explanation.” 

At least he could put her mind at rest on the issue of Harold’s future safety. “Doesn’t matter if he is or not. As soon as I can find a suitable replacement for me, one better able to protect Finch than I am, I’ll be leaving.”

“Over my dead body!”

What had his life come to, having an argument with a duke’s daughter while sitting on a toilet? Finally, something the CIA hadn’t covered in a briefing. “Ma’am?”

“Look at me when I am speaking to you.” 

He steeled his nerves and met her eyes. 

“Why are men such idiots when it comes to the simple things?” She leaned forward. “There is no one better suited than you to protect Harold.”

“But—”

“Please do not interrupt me, Mr. Reese. You have not only proven it with your successful retrieval of my nephew only slightly the worse for wear but in addition you are deadly, willing to get your hands dirty for a good cause, apparently indestructible and, more importantly, in love with Harold.” 

“No. He’s my partner and I…” What could he say to convince her otherwise?

“Gaping like a fish is not a good look on you. You can fool some of the people all of the time and none of the Holmes family any of the time.” She sat back in her chair. “Please do not worry yourself unduly. I have no intention of telling Harold as I pride myself on not interfering in the children’s lives.”

He couldn’t hold in a grin at that one and Aunt Violet couldn’t quite contain an answering quirk of her lips, just for a moment her expression so like Finch’s. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Reese. I hope when we meet again it is under more pleasant circumstances. If you would be kind enough to leave the laptop here and send in Sherlock, I would appreciate it.”

 

Message relayed to Sherlock, Reese stepped in to his walk-in closet and pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt before joining Finch and Watson in the kitchen and helping himself to a cup of coffee.

Watson was cooking eggs and bacon. “I hope you don’t mind? I thought a little protein might be good for my patient.”

“Of course not.” Reese took a seat at the counter next to Finch.

Watson put a full plate in front of Finch. “Eat all of it, doctor’s orders.” He turned to Reese. “Just like Sherlock, won’t eat unless you remind him. Would you like some?”

“Please.” Reese drank some of his coffee. “How’s our patient, Doc?” 

Finch scowled at his eggs like they’d personally offended him. “I am sitting right here, Mr. Reese.”

“He’s fine. His hand is healing up nicely, bruises, but nothing broken.” Watson slid some more eggs and bacon on to a plate and set it in front of Reese. “Is Harold usually this difficult to deal with? It would be medically unsound for me to assume he has the same personality type as his cousins.”

Finch put down his fork and turned to face Reese, eyebrows drawing together. 

“Only if you try to keep tear gas grenades in his office.” He grinned at Finch. “No, Doc, I think it’s just the effect the Holmes family has on everyone.”

Finch visibly relaxed and turned back to his food cutting in to the bacon. 

“You’re telling me.” Watson set his own plate on the counter across from them standing while he wolfed down his food like it might be snatched away from him at any minute. 

“Eating again, John?” Sherlock strode up the counter still finishing tucking his laptop away in his bag. 

“The last time we ate was lunch yesterday, Sherlock. So yes, strange as it may seem, I’m eating again. Would you like some?”

“No time. Now that everything here has been settled to my satisfaction—”

Watson laughed. “Don’t you mean to your mother’s satisfaction?”

“Yes, all right, that too.” Sherlock took the fork out of Watson’s hand. “Put your coat back on, we have a flight to Las Vegas and Mycroft already has a car waiting downstairs.”

“I’m sorry to leave your kitchen in such a mess, John.” Watson apologized and then went to retrieve his coat from the seat next to Reese’s.

Sherlock stared at Reese across the counter. “Try not to lose him again, there’s a good chap.”

Reese felt Watson’s steadying hand briefly on his shoulder right before Watson quickly changed the subject. “Why Las Vegas?”

“Mummy has some business interests there and wants me to see one of her partners about a new mall currently being built in Delaware.” 

Reese stiffened in his chair. He knew just what building site Mrs. Holmes had in mind. 

“She believes it needs a thicker foundation, perhaps as much as another two meters of concrete.” Sherlock raised one eyebrow at Reese before turning back to Watson.

Reese relaxed before rising to his feet, all too ready to see the last of this dog-and-pony show off the premises. 

Sherlock placed one hand lightly on Finch’s shoulder. “Goodbye, Harold.” Sherlock smirked down at Finch. “I’m sure the two of you can’t wait to be alone together.” 

“What?” Finch looked at Reese in utter confusion before looking again at Sherlock. 

“You cannot possibly be that dense, Harold, it is written all over his face whenever he looks at you.”

While Reese readied a denial, Finch reddened but rallied. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sherlock, if you understood the first thing about human emotions you’d have already realized that—” 

Reese saw Watson frantically shaking his head at Finch who then broke off mid-sentence. “Never mind. Goodbye, Sherlock.”

Sherlock spun around to stare at Watson who was walking swiftly towards the door, shoulders hunched. “C’mon Sherlock, we shouldn’t keep Mycroft’s people waiting.” 

“John? _John!_ ” Sherlock turned briefly back to Finch, beaming. “Thanks, Harold.” He hurried to follow Watson out of the apartment, Reese following slowly behind both of them to lock the door. 

Finch was standing in the middle of the room when Reese returned. Denial, Reese was definitely going to go with denial. “You should lie back down, Finch, rest up and get your strength back.” 

“I apologize for Sherlock, Mr. Reese. He lacks a certain understanding of the ridiculous.” 

Ridiculous that he’d be attracted to Finch? “But genius is very attractive, Mr. Finch.” So much for denial.

Finch stared at the floor, his shoulders even tighter looking than usual. “Sherlock is very attractive, but I fear his John might have something to say about it.”

“I think _his_ John could do a lot better.” Reese slowly slid his arms around Finch’s waist, giving him every opportunity to pull away, stunned but grateful when he didn’t. “ _Your_ John couldn’t.” He lowered his head but stopped inches away from Finch’s mouth. “The only problem here is that you could definitely do a lot better than me. It’s your choice to make, Harold.”

“Long since made, John.” And with that, Harold kissed him.

 

.


End file.
